


Bought the T-Shirt

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Barebacking, Consent Issues, Episode Related, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs some help with a thing. (Post-ep for 3x03 "Fireflies")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bought the T-Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> The consent issues are due to a fuck-or-die situation, but both partners consent within the bounds of that situation. 
> 
> Spoilers through 3x03 “Fireflies,” obviously. It's the least original thing ever, but it had to be done. Also, despite the circumstances, this refused to be angsty, so at least the boys get a break from all the manpain.

“So I guess Lydia turned you down.”

“What?  That’s not even…”

“I’m not going to do it, Stiles, so don’t try to beg.”

“Beg?” Stiles asks, his face going red but his feet refusing to move even as Derek tries to glare him away.  “I’m not going to _beg_.  There will be no begging.”  _Unless you want me to beg_ , his traitorous mind suggests.

“Good, because I already said I wouldn’t.”

“Not even to save my life?”

Derek sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.  “There are thousands of virgins in Beacon Hills.  Your chances of dying are relatively small.”

“Seriously, _that’s_ what you’re going with?” Stiles groans.  “How many of those virgins regularly get themselves embroiled in supernatural bullshit, hmm?”

“So stop embroiling.”

“That’s not an option!  It’s never been an option, not since Scott got bitten!” Stiles all but yells, throwing his arms up.  “People are dying and I’m not just going to lock myself up in the basement until it’s over.  I can _help_ , Derek.  And yes, of course it’ll always be more dangerous for the fragile little human, but you didn’t see those bodies.  Strangled, throat clawed out, _and_ head smashed in.”  Stiles almost asks whether Derek really wants that to happen to him, but he’s not sure he wants to hear a truthful answer.

Instead, Derek manages catch him off guard.  “So why come to me?”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles asks, feeling his cheeks flush even harder.  “You’re really going to make me say it?  I know you’ve been able to smell it on me from day one.”

“Day three, actually.  In the police cruiser.”

“Excellent.  No privacy at all.  So you’re aware of the, uh, situation.  In my pants.”

“Stiles, that’s more or less how you smell all the time.  You’re a teenage boy.  Yet another reason that I’m not going to do it.”

“The age difference is the problem?” Stiles says, gaping.  “Really?  My cousin is 15 and dating a 25 year old.  And it’s not like this is going to be a relationship anyway.  It’s just sex, just once.  The age thing doesn’t matter to me.”

That makes Derek push off the wall, his eyes glowing red and his voice dropping into a growl.  “It matters to me.”

He starts to turn his back on Stiles, so Stiles leaps forward and grabs the sleeve of Derek’s t-shirt.  “Derek, wait.  I’m sorry.  Please hear me out.”

“There’s nothing you can—”

“I didn’t go to Lydia first.”  Derek turns and looks at him silently, so Stiles keeps going.  “I didn’t go to anyone else.  I came here.”

Derek doesn’t push him away, so that must be a good sign.  “Why?”

“Well – okay, this doesn’t sound great – but you’re the only person who’s not my best friend or in an extremely complicated relationship with my best friend or related to me who can stand me.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit of an acquired taste.  There’s… I have no one else to ask.”  Stiles takes a deep breath.  “And even if I did, I still would’ve come here first.”

“Why would you think I’d even consider it?” Derek asks, but it comes out strangely soft, an honest question rather than a mocking one.

“I… hoped.  I mean, I don’t even know if you’re attracted to men at all, let alone me, but I kind of… trust you?  You risked your life to find Boyd and Cora twice.  You’ve always tried to keep Scott safe.  I guess I just thought maybe you could do this one thing for me.   It’s not a big deal.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and stares until Stiles finally admits, “Okay, it’s sort of a big deal.  Not like _big_ big, but like medium big.  In between medium and big.  Probably trending towards big.”

There’s actual pain in Derek’s eyes when he sets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  “Your first time shouldn’t be like this.  You should have a choice.”

It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, but Stiles forces himself to look Derek in the eye.  “If I had a choice, I would still choose this.  This whole thing is probably less fair to you than it is to me.”  His mouth quirks up before he can stop it.  “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  You’re my only hope.”

Maybe it’s unfair, because somewhere along the way, Stiles gained the secret knowledge that Derek can never, ever resist a Star Wars reference (well, okay, he probably _could_ , but he doesn’t).  And it works, because Derek actually moves his hand to Stiles’ cheek, and it takes all of Stiles’ self-restraint to keep from turning to kiss Derek’s palm.

“You’re sure?” Derek asks, and a thousand flippant answers die on his tongue when he sees how serious Derek is.

“Yeah, I am,” he says.  And then, because he can’t help it: “Save my life with your dick.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but his hand slides back down to Stiles’ shoulder to guide him toward the bed, incongruously set up right in the middle of the room.  Stiles looks at it and feels a sudden shiver of nervousness.  He’s actually going to do this – _they’re_ actually going to do this.  Derek has already pulled off his shirt and Stiles can see faint red lines criss-crossing his torso where he’s still healing.  It takes all of Stiles’ focus to look at his face and ask, “Um, can we maybe, like… kiss first?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”  Derek’s expression softens and he gets right up in Stiles’ space.  Not that he hasn’t been there before, but there have never been… _intentions_.  Well, not sexy intentions.

He cradles Stiles’ face in his hands and kisses him softly – _too_ softly, like Stiles is going to break.  Stiles gets both hands around Derek’s waist and pulls until their bodies are flush together.  It makes Derek groan, and Stiles takes full advantage of the opportunity to get his tongue in Derek’s mouth.  Stiles hasn’t had much practice at this, but he has had some, and he pulls out every trick he knows in an attempt to get Derek as hot and bothered as he’s been since Derek said yes.

He knows it’s working when Derek rocks his hips and Stiles can feel the hardening length of Derek’s cock pressed against him.  It’s just a brief moment of contact, Derek immediately pulling back, but Stiles feels electricity skipping through his nerves, and bold with the knowledge of the effect he’s having on Derek, Stiles spreads his legs slightly until he’s got one of Derek’s thighs between his and thrusts.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time – too much sensation, but not enough of it focused on the right spots.  But Stiles has never been one to give up easily, so he goes again, rocking against the hard muscle of Derek’s thigh, the friction good but not… quite…

When Derek pushes him away, Stiles is shot through with the fear that he’s done something wrong, that Derek is going to toss him out of the loft completely – and if Stiles is lucky, he’ll use the door.  But Derek just needs the space to reach down and adjust himself in his jeans before tugging Stiles back against him.  “Here,” he says, his voice rougher than Stiles has ever heard it.  “Like this.”

And he slots them together so that Stiles is rutting against the hollow of Derek’s hip, their cocks rubbing together on each pass, and suddenly Stiles finds that his legs just don’t want to hold him up anymore.  Luckily, Derek feels him start to slump, grabs Stiles by the ass and does most of the work himself, kissing Stiles messily while grinding their bodies together and it’s _perfect_.

Far too soon, Stiles feels himself nearing the edge, his balls starting to tighten up, but before he can even say the words, Derek pulls back, and Stiles could cry with how close he is.  He tries to push in again, get that sweet friction back – he only needs a little more – but Derek’s hands are firm on his hips.  “Not yet,” Derek gasps against his mouth.

Then he pulls away completely to get rid of his jeans, and the sex haze fogging up Stiles’ higher brain function lifts just enough for him to realize that, yeah, he probably doesn’t want to come in his pants.  Not only does he not have another pair with him, but he’s also unsure if that would count by crazy-virgin-murdering-monster standards.  Plus, he looks up, and _holyfuckingshit_ : naked Derek.  Stiles tears his own clothes off as fast as he can, the pain of carelessly yanking down his underwear over his erection pulling him back from the edge a bit.

It doesn’t even occur to him to be self-conscious until he’s standing there, not even his socks still on, and Derek is examining him from head to toe.  Stiles knows he’s not completely hideous – he’s got a little muscle tone from lacrosse practice and a decent-sized (though probably not XXL) cock – but he’s also standing in front of a man with a body that would make Michelangelo weep with his inability to capture its perfection.  Stiles is so focused on trying not to actually drool that he almost misses the heat in Derek’s eyes when he looks at Stiles.

Stiles fights the urge to glance around and see if there’s someone standing right behind him, because he doesn’t get that look from anyone.  Ever.  Luckily, he doesn’t have too long to freak out about it because Derek pushes him back by the shoulders, and Stiles had no idea how close he was to the bed because now he’s flat on his back, and he’d be a little peeved about the shoving if it weren’t the sexiest fucking thing ever.  Especially when Derek manhandles him around on the bed until Stiles’ head is on the pillows and Derek is on all fours over him.

“What do you want?” Derek asks after a long, deep kiss.

“You can’t just ask me that!” Stiles gasps, suddenly close to panicking.  This is here and its _real_ and he can feel the heat radiating from Derek’s body already and despite his very avid study of porn, _he has no idea what to do_.  “I don’t even know where to put my hands!  I mean, I know where I _want_ to put my hands, but I don’t know in what order, and if I have too many choices, my brain kind of does this thing where it stops working and can I put my hands on your ass?  Is that off limits?  I don’t think it would be, but I feel like I need to ask, because it’s _your_ ass, and—”

Derek shuts him up with another kiss, and Stiles has never been so profoundly grateful for anything in his life.  When Derek pulls back, his eyes glint in the afternoon sunlight – not red, just their normal, indefinable, breathtaking color – and he’s got the closest thing to a smile on his lips that Stiles has ever seen.  “You can put your hands anywhere you want, Stiles.  Same goes with your mouth.”

Stiles makes an embarrassing little _meep_ because he hadn’t even gotten around to thinking about _mouths_ yet.  He’s done plenty of that in the privacy of his own bedroom, but this is not his bedroom.  It’s not even his bed.  And Derek’s _on top of him_ , has he mentioned that?

“How about I start?” Derek asks, still almost-smiling.  “Just tell me if there’s something you don’t like.”

Derek is nuzzling the tender spot beneath Stiles’ jaw and kissing wetly down his neck before Stiles can say that he’s pretty sure there’s absolutely nothing Derek can do that he won’t like (though that big ol’ fist is pretty damn intimida— _not_ now, _Stiles_!).  By the time Derek’s mouth has reached his chest, Stiles is back to being so hard he’s starting to leak, and now Stiles has to touch something, if only to keep from grabbing at himself and ruining the whole thing before it starts. 

He starts out safe, slides his hands up Derek’s biceps to feel the tension of Derek holding himself up and slowly working his mouth down Stiles’ body.  Before Stiles can really process where this is heading, Derek’s stubble starts to tickle the soft hollow of his stomach and he twitches, trying hard to bite back on a giggle.  No way in hell is he _giggling_ while he’s in bed with Derek.

Except Derek figures it out almost immediately, the bastard, and starts rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ belly like a cat and Stiles can’t even laugh at that because he’s too busy laughing like a maniac.  “S-stop!” he finally manages to gasp.  “Derek, I s-swear to god!”

Derek does stop; he _bites_ instead.  Not hard, barely even enough to raise red marks, but the contrast of sensation is so sharp that Stiles’ hips buck off the bed.

“Easy,” Derek says, clearly amused as he eases Stiles back down with his hands until they’re pinning Stiles to the bed oh god they’re _pinning Stiles’ to the bed_.  Derek’s mouth trails down further until there’s no doubt as to his intentions.  He looks up, eyes a little glazed, and asks, “This okay?”

Stiles knows his eyes are about to pop out of his head and his mouth is gaping like a fish and that is not at all the sexy face he totally didn’t practice in the mirror, but Derek seems undeterred and all Stiles can do is nod.

Derek doesn’t tease, thank god, but he does go slow, licking Stiles from base to tip before taking him in his mouth.  It’s the first time Derek’s touched his cock, but Stiles already feels so overstimulated that he’d be writhing if Derek weren’t holding him down.  Derek bobs his head in a slow, measured cadence that has Stiles panting.  His grip on Derek’s arms isn’t cutting it anymore.  He has to bury his hands in Derek’s thick hair to feel the movement of his head, and Derek didn’t say the hair was off limits.  Stiles doesn’t mean to pull, but his fingers clench when Derek swirls his tongue and it makes Derek moan.  Around his cock.

Stiles is done for.

Derek probably felt it before Stiles did, because he steps up his pace, going a little deeper, sucking a little harder, and Stiles just gives it up.  Frankly, he’s amazed he’s lasted this long, because Derek’s mouth is a den of sin and iniquity and Stiles is pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head when he comes with a gurgled cry.  He’s completely failing on the sexy looks/noises front, but he can’t give half a fuck when Derek is still mouthing at his cock, drawing the last few pulses out of him.

Everything goes a little hazy after that, but Stiles is aware that Derek’s warmth is slowly moving back up his sweaty, trembling body.  His hands have dropped from Derek’s hair, but he reaches out for whatever he can touch, gets an ear and maybe a shoulder on the first try and tries to generally make it known that he would like Derek to get the _hell_ back up here without actually having to use, y’know, words.

Derek keeps his mouth closed when Stiles kisses him, but the hell with that, Stiles knows what he tastes like (everyone gets curious, all right?) and tasting the familiar bitterness on Derek’s tongue is the shock he needs to think clearly again.  “Oh my god, Derek.  _Derek.  Hnnnnngh_.”

Doesn’t mean he’s exactly verbal yet.

Derek traces Stiles’ lips with the tip of his tongue, and if this were a Disney movie (uh, a very X-rated Disney movie) Stiles would be bursting out into song right about now.  Holy shit.  Derek Hale gave him a blow job and he _survived_.  He wants that shit on a t-shirt.

“What was that about a t-shirt?”

Okay, so sort of verbal again.  “Nothing.”  Stiles grins.  He grins like he’s never grinned in his life, possibly like no human being has ever grinned in the history of time because Derek is practically laying on top of him, his lips a little swollen from sucking Stiles’ dick.  He’s also looking at Stiles like he’s lost his mind, but that’s not a new one.

Feeling bolder now, Stiles reaches up and runs a hand through Derek’s hair, and Derek actually leans into it and closes his eyes.  _Fuck_.  Derek’s so calm now, so still and a little vulnerable, and Stiles can’t help but feel greedy.  This might be the only time he gets to have Derek like this, and he wants nothing more than to roll Derek over and cover him with his own body.  Honestly, the strength of the feeling is a little scary; porn has in no way prepared him for _feelings_.

So he kisses Derek some more, nips at his lips and tongue and lets Derek nip back until Stiles starts to get hard again.  He doesn’t want to remind Derek that he’s only sixteen, but fuck it, for once being sixteen is awesome.

Derek must feel it against his thigh and pulls back.  He looks concerned, and Stiles wants to kiss that look right off his face, but before he can, Derek asks, “So, this, uh… thing.  The virginity thing.  How much, um…”

God, Derek is _blushing_ , but Stiles knows he’s genuinely embarrassed and oh, right, they’re doing this so Stiles doesn’t get dead.  The thought does absolutely nothing to kill his boner.  Well, it’s good to know he’s got his priorities straight.  “I, uh, don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

Stiles grunts and pushes at Derek’s shoulders, but it’s like trying to push a car over.  “I’m sorry if the unknown killer or killers haven’t taken the time to explain their definition of this particular social construct to me.  You want me to wander around in the woods until they find me and _ask_?”

Derek sighs.  “No.  Stupid question.  So I guess we’d better…”

Derek looks at Stiles expectantly, like he assumes Stiles will finish his sentence for him (which, to be fair, he usually does), but Stiles just raises his eyebrows and blinks.  He sincerely hopes that if he waits long enough, Derek will try to communicate through awkward hand gestures.

But finally Stiles takes pity on him.  “Slide headfirst into home plate?”

Derek groans and drops his head on Stiles’ chest.  “Yes.”

Stiles had thought they’d gotten past this, what with Derek sucking Stiles’ brains out through his cock, but apparently not.  “Hey, is it so bad?  With me?”

Derek drags his head back up and kisses Stiles’ neck.  His body shifts on top of Stiles and Stiles suddenly realizes that Derek is still hard; Stiles hasn’t even tried to get him off.  Ugh, Stiles is officially the worst lay ever.

But, hey, Stiles does need to be deflowered post haste, and the thick, hard cock pressed against his thigh should do the trick.  It takes Stiles another few moments to realize that Derek is up on his elbows, examining Stiles’ face and probably listening very closely to his heartbeat.  “You still sure about this?”

Stiles almost reminds Derek about the virgin-slaying monster, but he can tell that’s not really what Derek is asking.  He doesn’t know Derek’s history – he’s obviously way more experienced than Stiles, but he’s never talked about it and Stiles has sure as hell never asked – but he obviously feels the need to check in frequently with his partners.  Which seems a little repetitive, considering Stiles’ expressed eagerness, but he can roll with it.  “Still sure,” Stiles says, kissing Derek’s forehead softly.

Derek kisses him back, quick and light, and shifts off of Stiles to get to the nightstand.  The cool air washes over Stiles’ body and he shivers.  “I think I have some condoms somewhere,” he hears Derek say.  “It’s up to you – I know you’re clean and I can’t carry anything you can catch.”

“Long as you’re sure you can’t knock me up,” Stiles quips.

Derek stares back at him.  “Have you been spending too long on the internet again?”

“Define ‘too long,’” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice from quavering, because it’s finally hit him what’s about to happen.  He gulps, hopefully not audibly, because he’s seen Derek’s cock, and he probably actually needs the XXL condom (which Stiles is still carrying in his wallet just in case there’s another opportunity to drop it on the floor in front of many of his classmates).  But Derek’s still waiting for an answer, so Stiles says, “No condom,” and lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to relax. 

He knows from solo explorations that this isn’t going to happen if he can’t relax.  His erection has flagged a little with nerves, with the thought of Derek pushing into him.  He likes the feeling of his own fingers, but they’re much slimmer than Derek’s… Derek’s _everything_ , and it’s kind of freaky, all right?  Stiles has seen guys smaller than him take bigger cocks, but that was porn, and this is not.  But it’s been good so far, _so_ good, and he really does want it, independent of any pressing threats on his life.  He strokes himself with a slow, teasing twist and thinks about Derek inside him.

Stiles sort of registers Derek moving around on the bed, shifting the pillows, but he waits for Derek to reach for him, start opening him with slick fingers.  He waits.  And he waits.

There’s a wet sound coming from next to him, and when Stiles finally turns and looks, he flails up to a sitting position.  Derek is lying on his stomach, eyes closed, one knee tucked up and a pillow under his hips, and the sound is Derek pushing two of his own fingers into himself.  Stiles manages to choke on his next breath and his cock twitches in his hand.

Derek’s fingers stop and he cracks one eye open.  “What?”

It’s pretty obvious from the arch in his eyebrow that he knows _exactly_ what Stiles is thinking, but Stiles still sputters, “Oh, I’m just, uh, quickly reevaluating some assumptions.  That I made.  In the absence of reliable information.”

Derek snorts and starts fucking himself on his own fingers again.  “I thought this would be easier on you for your first time.  That okay?”

Stiles gets to fuck Derek.  _Stiles_ gets to fuck _Derek_.  He would’ve been fine either way, but the fantasies that make him come the hardest are the ones where he gets to slide into Derek, feel that inhuman heat gripping him and listening to the soft grunts of pleasure he manages to fuck out of the man beneath him.  They’re the best because they feel forbidden, like something that would never, ever happen because, hello, _alpha werewolf eight times Stiles’ size_.  Stiles feels bad for assuming he knew Derek’s preferences based on stereotypes.

But not _that_ bad.

“Can I, um,” Stiles says, finding it difficult to speak with his mouth completely dry.  “Can I help?”

Without a word, Derek pulls his fingers free and tosses Stiles the lube, which he actually manages to catch.  After it bounces off his shoulder, but whatever.  He scoots as close to Derek as he can get and before he can even slick up his fingers, he has to run a spread hand up the smooth plane of Derek’s broad back.   He takes a moment to trace the tattoo with the tip of his finger.  _Open wound_ , he thinks as he trails his finger over each spiral.  _When will you be able to heal, Derek?_

He’s been given permission to touch wherever he wants, but there are still some things that Stiles just can’t say.

But Derek’s getting impatient, and Stiles can’t really blame him.  Stiles starts with two fingers, figuring Derek will be able to take them easily.  He does – the groan he lets out is definitely not one of pain.  As hard as Stiles is, he thinks he could probably do this all day, just thrust his fingers in and out of Derek, loving the way Derek’s body tries to keep them inside.

It gets even better when Stiles crooks his fingers, and with a little experimentation, finds Derek’s prostate.  Stiles’ own is either not terribly sensitive or he can’t get the angle right, but Derek thrusts against the pillow when Stiles increases the pressure.  And then Stiles is letting out a steady stream of ohmigodohmigod _ohmigod_ because all it takes is two fingers and Derek is writhing, completely at Stiles’ mercy.

Then Derek clamps down on the fingers inside him and growls “ _Stiles_ ,” an unmistakable warning to stop teasing and move on.  Okay, so maybe not _completely_ at Stiles’ mercy.

Working in a third finger doesn’t take that long, but the feel of Derek around Stiles’ fingers is so brain-wreckingly arousing that he has to grab Derek’s ass with his other hand to keep from touching himself.  Coming once already means he has a little more endurance to work with, but he wants to last more than ten seconds inside Derek (ohgod, _inside_ Derek).  He almost jumps when Derek asks, “You all right back there?”

“Yeah, awesome,” Stiles squeaks.  “Why?”

“Because you’re digging bruises into my ass.”

“Oh god, sorry,” Stiles gasps, yanking his hand away.  Sure enough, there are small, round bruises dotting the perfection of Derek’s ass, but as he watches, they fade away to greenish yellow marks to nothing at all.

“It’s okay,” Derek says.  Stiles can hear the little quaver in his voice and it makes him ache.  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Stiles feels about as ready and not-ready as he could possibly be – it’s like Schrodinger’s Fuck, or something.  What he really needs is to stop thinking and start doing things, but as beautiful as the muscular stretch of Derek’s back is…  “Would you mind, um, turning over?  Would that be weird?”

Derek goes very still, and Stiles experiences another jolt of fear that Derek’s going to call everything to a halt before Derek turns over on his back, the pillow still holding his hips slightly off the bed.  Stiles pours way too much lube in his hand and slicks his cock until it’s dripping, but he’s hardly even paying attention to that.  Okay, so now he gets to watch Derek, but Derek will also be watching _him_ , and he’s about to ask Derek’s opinion on blindfolds when Derek tugs him closer and says, “C’mon, I’m ready.”

“You’ll tell me if I, like, hurt you, right?  Because I have no idea what the hell I’m doing – well, I understand the mechanics, but obviously I’ve never—Can you shut me up again, please?”

This time Derek presses a thumb to Stiles’ lips, and Stiles draws it into his mouth without thinking (stupid oral fixation), swirling his tongue against it.  Then Derek makes a noise Stiles can’t even _name_ , but it rumbles up through his chest and his eyes go heavy-lidded and dark, completely focused on Stiles’ mouth ( _awesome_ oral fixation).

“You can’t hurt me,” Derek says, his voice barely above a whisper, and even though Stiles knows it’s untrue on so many levels, he resolves to be as careful as he can.  He pulls Derek’s thumb from his mouth with a _pop_ and leans down to kiss him one more time, trying to ground himself before the plunge.

But before he can pull away, Derek reaches down and lines Stiles’ cock up, the head of it pressed tight against Derek’s entrance, and Stiles’ body takes over.  He thrusts forward on nothing but instinct, and after a single, heart-stopping moment of nothing happening, Derek’s body opens to him and the head of Stiles’ cock slides in.

Gasping, Stiles pushes himself up on his hands to get a look at Derek’s face.  Derek’s hands are firm on his hips, keeping him from shoving all the way in – thank god for that, because he’s positive he couldn’t hold back on his own, and no matter what he says, Derek needs time to adjust.  But the heat of Derek’s body squeezing tight around him robs Stiles of his ability to do anything but tremble and stare as Derek tips his head back, breathing through the stretch, _baring his neck_ , and Stiles is going to die from this.

Not a bad way to go, though.

After a long moment, Derek’s hands relax, and Stiles pushes in a little further… and a little further, slow as he can go.  The only way he’s still hanging on is by focusing everything on Derek’s face and body: when his shoulders tense and relax, when his lips form a tight line, when his eyes close and when they open again.

Stiles couldn’t possibly say how long it takes before he’s buried to the hilt, his hips flush with Derek’s and Derek’s big, broad hands across his ass, keeping them locked together until Stiles can feel the sweat dripping down his temple, and he’s not even moving yet.  Finally, finally, Derek lets go, and Stiles tries an experimental thrust – barely anything, an inch out and back in.

Then Derek breathes out a “ _yes_ ” and it’s game on.

It’s not graceful or sexy or sweet.  It’s frantic and stuttering, Stiles fighting with himself for control and losing.  But it feels like fucking _heaven_ and he’s pretty sure he’s just crying out Derek’s name over and over, utterly lost in it.  He only gets flashes of Derek’s face, eyes hot and bright, lips murmuring encouragement as his hands run up and down Stiles’ sides.  Stiles feels Derek try to move with him, to rock up into his thrusts, but Stiles is already too far gone, his pace erratic and desperate.

Stiles lasts longer than he thought he would, but it’s still over far, far too soon.  Coming deep inside Derek’s body is so intense it almost hurts, and he didn’t think anything could be better than Derek’s mouth, but oh god, he’s so glad to be wrong.  Derek’s hands guide him through those last few, juddering thrusts before Stiles’ arms give out and he collapses on top of Derek’s chest.

For a long time, they both just breathe: Stiles ragged and shallow, Derek steady and deep.  But Stiles’ ear is pressed right over Derek’s heart, and he can hear the quickened pulse, not even slowing as Stiles’ does.  _Fuck_ , Derek is still rock hard between their bellies.  Stiles has no idea how Derek hasn’t just pushed him off and started jerking it for all he’s worth.

Stiles has a purpose now, and he’s not going to let a little post-sex coma get in the way of getting Derek off.  He pulls out a little too fast and they both hiss with pain, but Stiles goes right for his target.  Derek’s cock feels surprisingly good in his hand – hot and pulsing and a little curved, thick but not nearly as monstrous as it had seemed when Stiles thought it was going in him.  Even if Stiles hadn’t already managed to get lube pretty much everywhere, Derek is uncut and wet enough for Stiles to stroke him smoothly.

Derek cries out in surprise and this time _his_ hips come off the bed.  But he’s done enough work for today, so Stiles straddles his thighs (which is probably more symbolic than actually helpful in holding him down), determined to make Derek come.  “Okay?” Stiles asks, still catching his breath.

“Tighter,” Derek gasps.  “Not as fast.”

Stiles adjusts, and this might be the easiest thing he’s done today – maybe even the most fun.  Because he gets to improvise, trying out the stuff he likes to do to himself and gauging Derek’s reactions.  It’s when he uses both hands, rubbing his thumb in circles under the crown while jacking the base of Derek’s cock with his other hand, that Derek goes completely still and shoots _hard_ , cum striping all the way up to his chest.  His eyes are closed tight and his mouth is open in a silent shout as Stiles strokes him through it, and goddamn, Stiles is going to be jerking off to this image for the rest of his _life_.

Derek bats Stiles’ hands away when it gets to be too much, and Stiles licks a drop of Derek’s cum off his belly.  Ugh, no better than his own, but Stiles figures he could get used to it for the feeling of Derek’s cock swollen and heavy against his tongue.  At the thought, his own dick tries valiantly to get hard again, but even Stiles doesn’t have that impressive of a rebound.

He has the courtesy not to collapse on Derek this time, instead crawling up the bed to lay stretched out beside him.  Stiles tilts Derek’s head to the side for a lazy, unfocused kiss that goes on and on and makes him feel warm all the way down to his toes.  He did it.  Well, _they_ did it, but he lost his virginity, and it was so far from perfect yet so much better than he could have ever imagined.

Eventually, Derek pulls himself together, and with a final press of his lips to Stiles’, gets up and starts rooting around on the floor for his clothes.  The warmth is suddenly gone from Stiles’ body, both literally and figuratively, and he’s left there on the bed, alone and sticky and bare-ass naked.

Right.  Mission accomplished.  Virginity inarguably gone.  It’s what he asked from Derek, and what Derek gave him.  Still, Stiles can’t help but make a truly mortifying little sound of loss as he watches Derek wipe himself off with his boxers.

Derek’s face has gone unreadable again, but he does sound genuinely apologetic.  “Sorry.  I’m not really a… a cuddler.”

It’s only the endorphins still circulating through Stiles’ system that keep him from tearing up a little at that – so much for puppy piles and nuzzling outside of sexy times.  Though that would probably just be for the pack anyway, if Derek were the kind of alpha that liked that sort of thing.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Derek says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, and it’s a small comfort that he looks almost as embarrassed as Stiles feels.

But Derek doesn’t move away yet, and Stiles manages an “O-okay.  I guess I should… get going then.”

“No,” Derek says quickly, his face falling.  “Not unless you want to…”

It’s obvious they’re both confused and embarrassed and sort of terrified of dousing cement over every chink in the wall between them that they’ve managed to chip out in the past year (well, Stiles at least will own up to that one), so Stiles uses every technique he knows to bring his whirling thoughts and emotions to a screeching halt and fucking _fix this_.  He sits up, makes Derek take notice.  “Okay.  Obviously I have no idea what the protocol is for this sort of… thing.  And I’m guessing you don’t, either.”

Derek is still not to the point in his personal journey that allows him to flat out admit that he doesn’t know something, so Stiles takes his silence as confirmation.  “Well…” Stiles says, trying not to hyperventilate.  “This is your place.  And we, uh.  Mission accomplished.  Pretty thoroughly.  But I gotta say, I’m in kind of a weird headspace right now.  So let’s try to make this as un-awkward as possible and decide on something together.”

Quite frankly, Stiles is amazed that he managed to get that many words out and have them maybe sort of make sense, but Derek is edging toward him slowly.  He looks like a deer that will bolt at the slightest movement.  Finally, he asks, “What… what do you want to do?”

Stiles clamps his mouth shut immediately, because he’s got a list of answers to that question that would probably send Derek sprinting, chief among them _I want to do that again sometime, and then again, and then probably keep doing it_.  Instead, he checks in with his body, which results in a yawn.  “I want to take a nap.”

It’s not what Derek was expecting, as evidenced by his eyebrows doing actual gymnastics on his face.  But all he says is, “Okay.”

“Seriously, I am wiped out,” Stiles says, and he feels that grin start to come to life again.  “Because that?  Every single second of that?  Was fucking awesome, and you are amazing and I’m not even sure I could stand up to put on my pants right now.  Also this bed is insanely comfortable.”

That earns him another one of Derek’s rare almost-smiles and Stiles very nearly pumps his fist in the air.  Because whatever comes after this, they just might get through the next few minutes with their dignity intact, and right now, that’s enough.

Then Derek asks, “You hungry?” and it’s Stiles’ turn for facial gymnastics.

At least he knows the answer to that one.  “I’m pretty much always hungry.  As a rule.”

“Okay.  You go to sleep and when I get out of the shower, I’ll order us a pizza.”

It’s not a declaration of everlasting love – which, quite frankly, would probably send Stiles screaming naked off the balcony at this point – but it’s a post-coital nap and pizza and Derek probably being mellower than usual for a while, with the added bonus of not being killed by one particular type of bad guy, and in Stiles’ book, that’s a huge mark in the WIN column.


End file.
